Words Rule Our Hearts
by Malteser24
Summary: A collection of *short* fics based on peculiar, rare or unusual words. PHAN. SOME-AU. Varying themes, indicated within. (word counts also vary)
1. Urbane

**Urbane : _Courteous and refined in manner._**

Being courted was certainly not on Dana's prority list.

Learning to play Chopin or Mozart is on there, as is to finally finish reading her favourite Dicken's novel _'Great Expectations'_ for the third time, or that one particular Poe poem, _'The Raven'_ , that's been haunting her for months.

Going for a walk around the cobble streets of London with a suitor organised for her by her parents, simply because he's the nephew of a lord - _"a title of the highest nobility, apart from royalty - you'll inherit a ladyship of Camden, Dana!"_ \- was not an activity that held great importance or personal interest.

Although she shouldn't really be surprised. What she wants has always played second fiddle in the big decisions her parents make for her.

If they want her to be escorted around the city by a noble boy, then she is to be escorted.

"You look, beautifully elegant, Dana." Her suitor, Philip, says when she traipses down the gilded staircase, her heeled shoes making soft thuds on the velvet coverings.

"I understand that courtesy is required of a gentleman such as yourself, but I am afraid that flattery will not get you anywhere." Dana remarks, finding herself pleased with Philips response.

His cheeks flush, a rosy tint that matches the colour Dan dusted her own cheeks with.

"I did not-" He stutters.

"I know. I am just clarifying before any problems arise."

Dana picks up the skirts of her rose-silk, gold-trimmed dress, and begins walking towards the tall oak doors.

"Are you coming, Philip? I can hardly escort myself."

Philip nods and rushes to meet her.

His tailored three-piece suit is of a smooth, cream colour; the pastel blue of his tie not only compliments the rest of his outfit, but also his eyes - not that Dana notices the deep azure of them or the chartreuse speckles that, normally hidden, twinkle under the light of the engraved chandeliers.

"I meant what I said," Philip whispers as he opens the door for her.

"You look exquisitely enchanting."

Dana hopes that the rogue on her cheeks is enough to hide the heat that rises, and her laced bodice tight enough to conceal the beating of her heart.

Not that either of those things happen, of course.

"I must confess, I'm having a better time then I expected." Dana admits, somewhat reluctantly.

"Better than you expected, or better then you told yourself it would be?" Philip asks, and he's not angry, not smug, there's no venom or disappointment in his voice - he sounds genuinely curious , if a little suspicious.

Dana's a little surprised, and she begins to wonder if she was a little harsh, judging him because she was irritated with her parents.

She's always been a spitfire, stubborn and brazen; speaking without thought and judging without consideration of the consequences or effects. It's her way of fighting back, against her family and the society whose rules she's forced to abide by, the rules which she disagrees with strongly.

But Philip has not done anything bad by her, he's been nothing but a gentleman, always pleasant and polite, despite their only having met thrice before - once at afternoon tea, the second to dance, and the third by accident, when her parents promptly decided he was a suitable match.

It is not fair for her to treat him in the manner she is.

"Do you care to join me on the edge of the fountain?" Philip requests, and although he doesn't speak it in words, Dana suspects that Philip took her silence as confirmation.

It almost frightens her, how quickly his ability to understand her is growing.

She gives a slight nod, and follows him to the marble ledge that surrounds the carved fountain. The trickling water serves as a serene background soundtrack.

"I apologise if I've come across as...forward. I assure you that was not my intention - the opposite, as it so happens."

"You haven't...I was callous in my negligence of your feelings and how my actions might effect you. I'm simply, rather _against_ the rules of courtship - and the decree that all women must abide by, and belong to a man, rather than to herself."

Philip's eyes widen, and although she stands her ground, she stands firmly by her beliefs - Dana wonders for a second if her framing of the phrases was a little crude.

"Surely you do not believe...why, I would never see you as my property! I am not courting you, Dana, because I want to _own_ you."

"You...aren't?" Dana asks, puzzled.

Philip reaches for her gloved hands, gentle at first; silently asking her permission, then when it's granted with a slight nod of her head, he envelops her thin, small hands with his own.

"I hold such adoration and affection for you Dana. Your shameless confidence, your fierce determination. Your quick wit, your spirit, your absolute wonder at the unknown."

"My looks?" She questions. It's a matter that, unfortunately, must be mentioned.

Philip chuckles softly.

"Your looks - your porcelain skin, delicate features, and caramel eyes that glint with specks of gold, like hidden jewels within your very soul peeking through. Yes, I suppose those looks are somewhat important, but they're certainly not all I care about."

Dana ducks her head, shy and self-conscious at the words Philip has spoken so softly.

Thin fingers pause under her chin, and she allows them to lift her head up, eyes locked on his.

"I do wish to marry you, Dana, one day - but only when and if, that is a commitment that you are willing to also make."

Dana pauses, allowing the weighted words to properly sink in, truly, before she speaks again.

"I believe that marrying you, may not be such a horrible thing." She says, which Philip recognises as the closest thing to a _'yes'_ he'll get out of her.

He smiles, his face lighting up with an ethereal delight. Dana can feel her heart beating faster, and she's certain that Philip can feel it too - the quickened thrum of the beats like strings plucked on a violin played by hand, traveling through her veins like water, from her hand to his.

"I promise to propose to you formally, soon. I thought it best to clarify our intentions the same first."

He stills, cocking his head an inch to the side like a curious bird.

"Alarm me to it, if I'm being too improper - but I have a great desire to kiss you."

"Surely it can't be improper if no one discovers it." She replies.

"You're an amazement to the most intelligent men in the world - how on earth am I supposed to unravel your secrets?" Philip asks, in awe.

"I'm sure you'll have enough time to learn everything." Dana retorts.

Philip raises the hand not holding hers, and cups her cheek with it. She shivers at his touch, his hand surprisingly warm against her cool skin. She rests her hand on his leg, to balance herself and to ground the both of them. She closes her eyes as he leans in.

His lips are dry from the wind, but they move against hers gently and slowly. He doesn't push her or press too hard - their lips move against each others delicately, as one whole not two parts, and Dana can feel herself melting under his touch, falling for the urbane man with the starry eyes.

Perhaps marriage wouldn't be the apocalyptic disaster she had initially thought.


	2. Timorous

Timorous

' _Showing or suffering from nervousness or a lack of confidence'_

* * *

There are days where Phil wants to scream, to yell with rage, to cry, to sob. There are also times where he wants to laugh and squeal and shout with joy. But unfortunately, that's simply not a possibility.

Because Phil, is mute.

It's the way he's always been, his first word never came, so he doesn't know any differently. The doctors assured his parents that it's not a problem, he's not unhealthy or in danger, he just won't ever speak. Phil thinks it's something to do with undeveloped vocal chords or something, but he's not completely certain, as the medical mumble jumbo the doctors' spoke went in one ear and straight out the other.

When he was really young, before the days of popularity and teasing and who-likes-who being important, it didn't matter that he didn't speak. All of the other kids just assumed that he was just really shy and quiet, but it didn't stop them from playing with him.

High school was an inevitable obstacle, and one Phil was less than eager to even attempt to overcome. He wasn't a fool. Primary school had been seven years of kids who thought his 'muteness' was just one of his weird propensities. They'd accepted it as normal and nothing more had ever been said.

But high school meant new kids, strangers, who didn't know, didn't understand, and likely didn't want to.

The first three months were torture. His classmates teased him about his muteness, and although they weren't always physically abusive, the mental cruelty was damaging enough.

He'd never hated himself for being mute before, but he was quickly beginning to.

But then, an angel, or some other celestial entity smiled down on him, because one day he ran – literally – into a boy with straight brown hair and hipster-y glasses.

The boy's name was Chris, and he had been on his way to the office for his daily medication – mild ADHD.

Phil had waved his hands in an ill attempt to apologise without the words he was unable to conjure. Chris had been confused at first, but when Phil explained his…situation in excruciatingly neat handwriting on a torn piece of notepad paper – he always kept some folded in his pocket just in case – he was all prize-winning smiles and open hands.

Their friendship blossomed, and the rest is history.

* * *

"You're being ridiculous."

Phil grins as he observes his best friends' amusing couples' banter.

"I am not!" Chris protests.

Phil's pretty certain that PJ's staring at Chris. He's not sure _how_ , considering it's pretty much impossible, but he thinks PJ's found a way.

"I honestly believe that having a seeing-eye dog is a little too extravagant at the moment, not to mention ludicrous. I'm _barely_ seventeen, Chris. Besides, you're _way_ too clumsy for _me_ to have a bouncing animal around."

PJ grins, and Phil thinks the connection between the two is stranger than he had previously thought. Chris' low scoff is scarcely an indication of his indignation.

"Phil. Surely you're on my side?" Chris pleads.

Phil shakes his head, and knocks once on the table for PJ's benefit, their mutually agreed signal for _'no'._

"Blasphemy!" Chris shouts.

"Well, actually –"

" _Treason_ , then."

Phil shakes his head softly – but if he's being completely honest, he finds it more endearing than anything.

PJ runs his hand up Chris' arm and taps his shoulder.

"Come here," He says, and Chris turns his head.

PJ cups Chris' cheek and they share a soft, short and sweet kiss.

Phil scribbles a sentence onto a scrap of paper.

" ' _Your PDA makes me wish_ I _was blind'_. Gee, thanks, Phil. Tell us what you _really_ think." Chris scoffs.

He laughs though, as does PJ, and although Phil's giggling internally, he wishes he could make actual sounds.

\- break -

Phil has to admit that all three of them are very lucky, considering they only have two classes separate.

It could be worse.

It's just that, sometimes…sometimes, when Phil's hiding out in the back corner of a classroom, he has mental flashbacks of bad times, and it induces slight anxiety. He imagines that people are whispering about him, that when they glance over they're _looking_ at him, that they're _talking_ _about_ _him_ …and it makes concentrating a little hard,

It's probably a causal effect of his muteness, but Phil's a fairly shy, reserved person. And he always worries too much about if people are talking about him, because he doesn't know what they're saying if they are. Which makes it pretty hard to make friends – amongst other contributors.

* * *

Phil regrets sitting in the back, at a table with a empty seat beside him – the only empty seat in the whole room – when his Psychology teacher announces the arrival of a new student.

The fact that the new student is really cute, and Phil's only recently accepted the existence of his bisexuality, doesn't really help matters much.

"This is Dan, and he'll be joining our class this semester, so don't be jerks," The teacher says.

There's a chorus of laughter that spreads around the room.

"You can sit next to…Phil."

There's a few muffled sniggers as the teacher looks over at Phil, but he doesn't make any visible gesture to indicate he's heard anything.

He's too busy having an internal breakdown, because this new kid – Dan – doesn't know about his, _condition_ , and he'll have to go through the same painful attempt to explain his situation, which will just result in an awkward, tense atmosphere and another person who thinks he's a freak.

 _Joy._

Dan smiles, and Phil tries, he attempts to return it, weakly, but he tries.

"Hi," Dan says, and Phil's hopes that Dan would just ignore him, like pretty much everyone else, escape out the window.

Phil waves, and although Dan's eyebrows narrow, he keeps quiet.

* * *

The lesson passes with no fuss, and when the bell goes Phil's grateful - he can finally escape.

No chance.

"Hey, so I know I'm new and everything, but I was wondering if, maybe, I could hang out with you? I don't know anybody, that's all."

Phil feels immensely horrible, and he tries to convey everything he wants to say through his expression - his hands are too busy holding his stuff - but he's not quite sure how to.

"Uh, hello? Can you hear me, or are you just being a jerk."

Dan's getting agitated, Phil can tell, and he hates it, he hates when anyone's angry or upset - but he can't _do_ anything...can't _say_ anything.

"Wow, I know I'm new and everything, but you don't have to be such an asshole."

Dan's full blown _angry_ now, and Phil hurries to think of something to do as Dan turns to walk off - but somebody else has already come up with _the perfect idea_.

"Oh, mate, it's not what you think. The freak's not intentionally ignoring you, he's just a mute."

The words are spoken with malice and tease, but also simplistically - a fact that is just accepted; Phil's a freak.

Dan's eyes are wide, shocked, but Phil's not paying attention to that. He can feel the tears splashing down his warm, reddened cheeks. He runs out of the room without a second glance, heart pounding and stomach twisting.

It doesn't hurt because he thought he could make a friend, it hurts because he had believed the days of being called a 'freak' were long past him.

* * *

"Phil?" Chris calls out. He's seated at their usual table, but his sharp eyes noticed Phil's sullen figure before Phil could slip past.

Phil takes his time, mentally preparing himself for the sympathy bound to show on his best friends' faces, sympathy he's not even sure he deserves.

"Mate, are you...did something happen?"

Phil shakes his head as he sits down.

"Phil..." PJ says, and he knows, Phil can tell he knows - and he's 100% positive that PJ's got some crazy psychic powers.

"Did someone say something?" Chris asks, and Phil pauses, before nodding reluctantly. He knocks twice on the table, but it's soft, barely audible.

"Did they tease you?" PJ asks, and Phil nods, before shrugging.

"Care to expand?" Chris asks, but before Phil gets a chance, someone walks over, hesitating by their table.

"Uh, hi..."

Phil's freezes. He knows that voice. He _knows_ who that voice belongs to.

"Hi..." Chris begins. He saw Phil tense, so he's cautious, and wary - visibly so, too.

"Sorry, it's just...there was this, misunderstanding, and...uh, I'm Dan, by the way."

"Chris," Chris greets slowly.

"PJ. And this is -"

"Phil." Dan cuts in, blushing slightly as he realises what he'd said.

"Sorry, we've, uh, we've met."

Chris raises his eyebrows at Phil, asking a silent question, but Phil doesn't move.

"I don't mean to interrupt, it's just...I was kind of hoping to talk to Phil."

"You know he can't..." PJ begins, wary of offending or upsetting Phil, his hands moving like Phil's usually do.

"Yeah...that's partly why I wanted to, uh, talk."

"It's okay, I can interpret. Speak away." Chris announces.

"Okay, uh..."

Dan's nervous...but Phil's not sure _why_. It's rather strange, to see someone else acting like that, timorously, the way Phil so oftenly acts.

"I'm sorry about the...misunderstanding before. I thought you were being rude and obnoxious, and it annoyed me - when really, _I_ was the one being rude."

Phil shrugs one shoulder, eyes widened, and Chris understands, although Dan obviously doesn't.

"It's okay. He knows you didn't mean it. He understands."

Dan looks amazed that one look can convey so much, that Chris can understand so easily what Phil means, and Chris chokes out a low laugh. Phil knows it's just because Chris gets it, he just _knows_.

"Phil, I'm...I'm sorry."

Phil smiles, and scoots across, opening a spot next to him. After all, Dan is new, and now that everything has been cleared up, he can't see why he shouldn't have the chance at a new friendship.

"Care to join us?" PJ asks, and Chris properly laughs as Dan sits down. Phil absentmindedly thinks Dan looks rather adorable, puzzled as to how glassy-eyed PJ knew what Phil did.

"You have much to learn." Chris says.

Phil pulls out a scrap of paper and a pencil, and scribbles down a single word, which he passes to Dan.

 _'Friends?'_

Dan reads the note, and nods, grinning.

"Friends." He agrees.

Phil quite likes the sound of that.


	3. Oneiric

_'of or relating to dreams'_

 **SENSITIVE CONTENT ARE DISCUSSED AND FEATURED. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION: POSSIBLE TRIGGERS.**

 **If you can't tell, I'm really into platonic girl-boy relationships. (Also writing girls is fun ;D )**

 **Song lyrics featured in this from 'Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)' by Green Day and 'Can't Help Falling In Love' by Elvis Presley.**

 *** * * break**

Eyes the brown of hot chocolates in winter by the fireplace, hair as soft as felt, the colour of coffee with only a dash of milk mixed in. Skin that's warm to the touch and the colour of burning whiskey. A smile that's nervous but sweet and nothing but honest. A heart big enough to swallow the entire earth whole.

That's what Phil sees, what he feels, the night of his eighteenth birthday, and most nights from then onwards. Of course he has no idea who he's dreaming about, where they live or by what gender they associate. Not to mention, how old they are or what kind of relationship they'll have if they ever meet. He catches little things in snatches, the sparkle of eyes, or the quirk of upturned lips, what it would feel like to trace his fingers over delicate skin.

He'd heard about soulmates all his life. Some people, like his aunt and uncle, found each other when they were children and had developed a romantic relationship that stemmed from their platonic one. Other people, like his parents, spent years looking for their soulmate, dreaming about them but never knowing them.

Phil didn't tell his parents when he first started dreaming of the person he was supposedly connected to. He didn't want to, it felt like betraying a friend, spilling a secret - one he wanted to keep as close to his chest as he possibly could. It was important to him, special, _too_ special for him to just let slip out.

He'd tell someone, one day, of that he was almost certain.

But for the time being, he cradles the glimpes he gets like a well cherished toy, tightly to his chest where no one else can see.

* * *

Dan was fourteen - almost fifteen if you asked him - when he first dreamed of his soulmate.

When he first woke up, with the images of sapphire blue eyes and a smile that reminded him of a sunny day, he was unbelivably delighted. He knew what it meant, he had learnt about soulmates in high school, and the prospect that he had one was very exciting.

And then he came to his senses, and he realised that things weren't as great as they seemed.

Because he knew his mother wouldn't be happy about it. She would be jealous, because she'd never found her soulmate, and Dan wasn't even sure if she'd ever had one. And in her fragile state, rattling like her pill bottles and drowning herself in her own sorrows, telling her that he had found his own soulmate, that he even had one ... they were a lot of things he'd much rather do.

Like stub his big toe a bajillion times.

So Dan learnt to come up with different dream scenarios, occasionally nightmares just to shake things up a little bit, to tell her when she asked how his sleep had been. On her bad days, which happened more than he would like, she cared a lot more about whether he was her son or her abusive ex-boyfriend. Which was good for Dan, because that meant he could focus on ensuring she didn't hurt him whilst attempting to get her out of bed.

And, strangely, it was on those bad days, that Dan had the best images of his soulmate.

Smiles that were brighter, a warm, comforting heat that engulfed him, almost like he was being hugged. A laugh that was loud and happy and infectious.

Like his soulmate, whoever they were, was trying to console him in some way. It felt nice, like he was wanted, loved - undoubtedly.

And, sure, it was probably false hope within him ... but it was also a light in the darkness, and that was something he almost desperately needed.

* * *

"Something's different about you..."

Phil averts his gaze to the ground, trying to ignore his best friend Anna's scrutinising gaze. He knows without looking, that her blue-green ocean eyes are searching him for any sign of weakness.

"Phil..." She warns, and he'd think she was bluffing if he didn't know her so well.

"Okay, so I might have possibly dreamed about my soulmate the other night." Phil says, suddenly finding the grains of the wooden table of the university library very interesting.

"When was this 'other night'?" Anna inquires, and Phil can hear the hidden strains of a squeal lying beneath the surface of her voice.

"You know how my birthday was like a month ago, right?"

"You know that Muse concert I took you to? Yes, I know when your birthday was." Anna replies sarcastically, but now she seems even more interested than before.

"Well, the night of my birthday ... that's when the dreams first started." Phil says, awaiting the brunt of her fury.

Which came surprisingly quickly.

"You've been dreaming about your soulmate for a month and you _didn't tell me_?"

Phil looks up at her sheepishly, hoping that she'll either understand or give him the chance to explain himself before she goes full-banshee on him.

"It felt like a secret that I'd be betraying." Phil tells her quickly, and it sounds like an excuse but it's not.

Anna stares at him, and he can tell that she gets it. After a second she huffs out a sigh, and smiles at him.

"Well, I guess I can understand that, I suppose." She says, and Phil knows that if they weren't in public he'd definitely be hugging her by now.

"I'm happy for you, you know." Anna adds, and Phil smiles at her.

"Yeah I know."

"And I'm not actually upset, I still love you and everything."

Phil raises his eyebrows, and nods. "Yeah, and I love you. Dork."

"Nerd." Anna retorts, and then they're laughing and Phil sticks his tongue out at her and Anna gets back at him by nudging his shin under the table with the point of her boot.

Phil is happy that he's got a soulmate, but he's even happier that he has a friend like Anna in his life. He wonders if his soulmate, whoever they are, has a friend as awesome as her, and if - providing he was lucky enough to meet this mysterious stranger - they'd get along with Anna as well as he does.

* * *

Dan lies in bed for a few minutes after a particuarly blissful night where flashes of strong, warm arms and soft kisses with hushed, kind words carried him in his sleep. The covers he's tangled in feel softer,comfier, and he has the strongest desire to slip back into slumber, to escape from the realities of his life and to delve back into the shots of his soulmate. He thinks they might be a guy, although he isn't certain, and even if they are he knows no other details. All he knows, is that he's never felt safer than when he is dreaming, and it feels him with the greatest feeling imaginable.

And then he hears the scraping of hands against dry-wall and he groans, because the noise means his mother is awake, and he has only a few seconds to figure out whether she's in a good state or not.

He throws the covers on his bed back, and slips out of bed, chucking a clean hoodie on as he peeks his head around the frame of his door. His mother is shuffling about the kitchen, her old, familiar and impossibly warn out powder blue dressing gown pulled around her, tied up with a knot on her side. As he gets closer he can hear the soft strains of her voice, as she sings one of her favourite songs - something Dan hadn't heard her do in far too long.

 _"For what it's worth, it was worth all the while."_

He hopes that it means she's doing okay today. She always used to sing, back when everything was okay, back when his Dad was still around and Dan didn't have to be the adult of the household. She'd sing when she was cooking, in the shower, and every night as she tucked him into bed she'd whisper soft lyrics into the otherwise quiet stillness of the air.

He missed it, some days. Most of the time, he really just missed her.

"Hey, Mum." He said, entering the kitchen with caution.

"Hello, dear. How was your sleep?"

 _Wonderful._ He thinks. Out loud, he says. "It was okay. How are you feeling?"

"Well, I'm feeling a little fatigued, I suppose, but other than that I'm just peachy."

She smiles at him, and she looks so much like the old her - eyes bright and smile kind, her cheeks tinted with a healthy glow - that Dan wants to cry. There's no manic look in her eyes, she looks stable and back to who she used to be before everything went wrong.

"What do you want for breakfast?" She asks, stepping forward to cup his cheek gently. He wonders if she can tell that he's on the verge of tears. She brushes his hair back off his forehead, and he has to swallow, hard, to keep from choking out a sob.

"I don't know." He says, his voice cracking on the last word.

"Hm, well I was thinking I whip up some pancakes? What do you say?"

Dan nods slowly, not trusting himself to speak.

His mum smiles at him, then directs him to seat at the table. He watches in awed silence as she flits around the kitchen, whipping together buttermilk pancakes just like she used to. He can hear her singing again, a different song, and this time he hums along, still in disbelief.

 _"Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes some things are meant to be."_

He remembers her singing this song to him as they danced around the living room in their socks and pajamas on a Sunday morning. It's her favourite song of all time, one of his favourites too, and he hadn't heard it since she'd last sung it to him a few years ago.

Burning tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he blinks them back.

"We should do something today, just you and me." His mum says, her back to him, and Dan's glad she can't see how much of a mess he currently is.

"Like what?"

"Well, we could watch a movie or something. Snuggle up on the couch like when you were a little baby - they were good times." His mum suggests, sounding a little wistful and distant.

"They were."

"Well it's settled then." His mum exclaims, whirling around to flash Dan a brilliant, warm smile.

Dan nods.

He doesn't mention to her, that he has school on, which he really should be getting ready to leave for. She's somewhat normal, and coherent, and he wants to make the most of it while he has the chance. He has no idea when it's going to happen again, and there's a part of him that's worried if he leaves now she'll break beyond repair.

Besides, it's not like he's really noticed at school anyway. He can just go to the library across town sometime during the week if he needs to.

* * *

"So, this soulmate person of yours?"

Phil looks over at Anna, who's lying upside down on his bed, her dark auburn hair nearly reaching the carpet.

"Yes?" He asks, before adding quickly. "Is that even comfortable?"

"It's more comfortable than you'd think." Anna replies. "Anyway, back to the soulmate. What's in these dreams of yours?"

Phil's reminded, in that moment, that Anna hasn't dreamt of her soulmate yet, and there's a possibility she might never. He wants to apologise immediately for even telling her about it, but he keeps it back, knowing she'd only dismiss his concern as pointless and ask him again.

"Flashes, almost like distant memories. Hair and eyes, sometimes a smile. I can sort of, feel their heart - that sounds weird. Like I sense it. I also get the, feeling, that they're a really nice and caring person, if that makes any sense at all."

"Do you know if they're a boy or a girl?" Anna asks, her eyes closed - he can see where her eyeshadow has started to rub off.

"I mean, it wouldn't really matter to me anyway." Phil says, and he doesn't mention that he feels like he might be slowly falling in love with the person who continuously runs his dreams.

"Well, I know _that._ " Anna says, opening her eyes just to roll them at Phil.

He leans back in his desk chair, arms crossed.

"I think they might be a boy," Phil says, because that's the feeling he got. "But I'm not certain."

"It would be a shame, if they lived quite far away," Anna thinks aloud, and Phil freezes, because he'd never thought past who his soulmate might be, generally speaking.

"What if they're already in a relationship?" He mutters. "Or, what if they're too young or too old for me?"

Anna rolls over, so she's lying on her stomach, her hair falling around her, framing her face.

"Phil, you shouldn't worry yourself with things like that - you have no idea, and you can't be expected to until you meet them."

"I know," Phil says, resting his head on the back of his chair.

"Maybe you'll be lucky." Anna says, and Phil raises his eyebrows.

"Maybe you'll meet them sooner than you think."

* * *

A few days pass before Dan has the chance to slip away to the library. He tells his mum that he's got a meeting for some big project after school, but he'd be home by 6:30 at the latest.

He runs to the bus once the bell has gone, his small bag with the few things he needs on his back, grateful that he makes in time. He sits on the left, at the middle - close to the front but not right behind the driver. The perfect place for him to sit without being properly noticed.

Dan gets off at the library across town, re-adjusting his bag over his shoulder. He greets the librarians inside with a small, pleasant smile and a tiny wave. None of them say anything as he makes his way to the group of tables in the back, knowing that's where he'd go because it's where he always studies.

He sits at the table, textbook and notebook sprawled on the table in front of him, and gets to work.

Roughly half an hour or so later, Dan's written two pages of notes and highlighted three sections of his textbook. He's far too distracted by his work to notice as someone takes the seat across from him, but he does hear the sharp intake of breath.

He looks up, not sure what to expect but most certainly not anticipating what he does find.

Crystal glass eyes reflecting an ocean, wide and shocked. Stark black hair, dark as a raven's. His heart slows to a steady beat, and he swears he can feel the other guy's heartbeat too, he can almost sense it.

"You," He breaths out, whisper-quiet and disbelieving.

 _"You,"_ The other guy - _my soulmate_ Dan thinks - says, just as quietly.

He laughs, and it's delightful, the best sound Dan's ever heard. Dan simply sits there with a slack jaw, ignoring the urge to pinch himself, to make sure this isn't all a dream.

"I'm sorry, uh ... I'm Phil."

Dan accepts the hand that is extended towards him, his own hand trembling slightly. Phil smiles gently, and Dan thinks it's better in real life. Phil's older than him, Dan guesses, possibly an adult, and he wonders if that's going to ruin the slim chance Dan had thought he might have had.

"Dan." He says, taking his hand back and wiping it on the fabric of his jeans, hoping the handshake wasn't as sweaty as it had felt for him.

"It's really good to meet you - this sounds so creepy but I've been looking forward to this moment for ages." Phil says, laughing softly.

Dan surprises himself by laughing too, but the delighted reaction from Phil is enough for him to keep going.

"It's good to meet you too." Dan says. "I'm really glad you're, you know, real and not just a figment of my imagination. Or, even worse, on the other side of the world."

Phil reaches out, and cautiously takes Dan's hand in his own. Dan lets him, and the warmth and softness of Phil's hand sends shivers through his arm.

"I'm pretty real." Phil says, softly. "Unless we're both insane, and I've imagined myself up."

"I doubt it." Dan whispers, feeling as if speaking any louder would ruin the peace that had settled over them, drawing them closer.

"That's good news." Phil says.

There's so much they don't know about each other, and Dan knows that - he assumes Phil does too. But there's a nice, peaceful feeling settling over him, like a piece of him has finally been filled, and he doesn't remember ever feeling so overwhelmingly _good_.

He's found his soulmate, and no matter what else happens, he has a feeling that he'll always have Phil there for him.


	4. Amaranth

_'an imaginary flower that never fades; a purple colour'_

Philip's always know he'd take his father's throne one day, eventually. He was born a prince, son to the ruler of the four corners and the six lands. His destiny, his only role in life would be to continue the reign set by his ancestors.

Yet, despite knowing this, he still willingly opened his arms and his heart to the poor orphan boy he would later come to love.

And despite knowing the inevitable outcome, instead of ending things before they had even properly started, and before he fell too hard in love to get back up unscathed, before they _both_ did - Philip _allowed_ himself to touch, and taste, and _love_ , because the thought of walking away was simply too much to bear.

And now, on the eve of his coronation, he's regretting not ending it before, regretting allowing himself to fall in love.

Because in less than a day, he'll have to complete the ceremony that will alter his life and don the crown that will raise his status as long as he shall live. He'll have to step away from his teenage whims and grow up, become an adult.

And, he'll need to marry. Every king _must_ have a queen.

Unfortunately, no throne may hold two kings.

* * *

"Is there anything else I may do for you, my prince?"

"Join me?" Philip requests.

Daniel knows, as servant to the current Crown Prince and future King of the Never Lands, to refuse a request from his lord is as good as commiting treason, or murder. He also knows that Philip is not cruel enoght to chastise him, and it's not as though he doesn't want to, it's just...

Daniel wants to join him, _too much._ Everything's always _too much_ when it comes to Philip.

"Please, Daniel, we only have tonight left, Gods know...what will happen after I am crowned, what will change and I...I can not stand to waste what little time we have left."

Daniel sighs softly, the sliver of determination he had been clinging to, deflating as he gives in. He locks the door to Philip's bedroom chambers, closes the drapes and lights the scented candles on the dresser. He strips to his undergarments and slips under the covers, Philip's warmed hands sliding around his waist.

"I wish my destiny were different." Philip murmurs as he places a kiss onto Daniel's neck.

"Do not...you have been a part of royalty your whole life, this is all you have ever know. Besides, you were figuratively and literally born to be king - you are the kindest, sweetest, most caring person in all the lands, the best possible choice, the most suitable, to rule. I do not wish for things to be different, and neither should you."

Philip presses delicate kisses to Daniel's gentle skin, breathing in the scent of lavender soap and honey, mixed in with the fading smells of dirt and flour and roses, soaking in as much of _Daniel_ as he can, while he still can.

"I just wish that _this_ did not have to end. Knowing what would inevitably happen, does not make continuing my life without you any easier. I wish that we did not have these roles defining and segregating us."

"I love you," Daniel says, and his voice is softly spoken, yet it echoes around the room like a shout.

Philip squeezes Daniel in the vain hope he can stop him from ever having to leave his side. He then pulls on Daniel's shoulder so he turns around, delicious chocolate eyes locking on enchanting oceanic ones.

"I love you too." He replies, stroking his thumbs across Daniel's cheeks to catch the tears that have begun to fall. His own eyes brim with tears but he blinks them away.

They spend their remaining hours sharing soft kisses and whispering declarations of love and foolish promises of forever.

Neither mention the future event slowly creeping on them, neither spare even a second's glance at the amaranth cloak draped over the cloth mannequin, but both were much too aware.

They focus on the love in their hearts, on the present, and nothing else.


	5. Vespertine

_'Relating to, occurring, or active in the evening'_

It is a peculiar thing, to find oneself alone in the woods, with the sun setting slowly, disappearing behind the horizon of a sky filled with an enchanting mix of marigold, violet, vermillion and cerulean hues.

It is even more peculiar, to find oneself not so alone, as the twilight hour passes.

"Is anyone there?"

Philip's voice cracks, and he despises how weak and frail he sounds. How _scared_ he sounds.

He knew venturing alone at night was a horrible idea, but he couldn't stand to face the abuse for another night, couldn't bear another harsh slap or biting scratch. Being torn apart, slowly, limb by limb, would be a more pleasant way to spend the night than how he would have, had he stayed.

That doesn't mean the rustling he heard frightens him any less.

"Hello?" He calls out, painfully aware of every little noise.

Realistically, he knows that the noises he hears could likely be from nocturnal creatures scuttling for food. But there's a chill running down his spine like cold lightning bolts and his neck has tensed - his tell-tale inkling of danger, a sixth sense of sorts.

So he could surely be excused for suspecting he wasn't actually alone.

A harsh gust of wind brushes past him, and Philip's hair stands on end. The air was deadly still a moment ago. He whips his head around, left to right, back and forth, but all he sees is endless darkness and a foreboding forest that appears to stretch forever.

"Who are you? I swear, by the King and by our Gods -"

"You will what? What do you swear?"

The voice seems to come from nowhere in particular, and yet everywhere at once. There's humour there, but the voice is still chilling, and Philip feels like he's someone, or somet _hing's_ prey.

"Well, then, pretty boy? What will you do?"

Philip spins until he feels dizzy and faint, and he's certain that he's about to snap his neck from turning so fast. But he keeps going, because he doesn't know what else to do.

The voice laughs, and he thinks it might be coming from a boy, although with no sight of them, he's not completely sure.

"Nothing. You will do nothing, because you cannot. You are _helpless_ \- like a little lamb being dragged to slaughter."

"And you are my butcher?" Philip asks, drawing on strength he didn't know he had.

"Butcher is such a crude word...don't you think?"

"Would you prefer coward?" He asks, and he knows he shouldn't, but he does it anyway.

He's not going to die blind to his attacker.

A cloaked figure appears from between the trees, and Philip's reminded of the tarot cards his mother would wield in front of curious guests, before she passed, and more specifically the one that spoke of death and despair, that displayed the courier of the dead. Philip doesn't think he found the Grim Reaper itself, but whoever he is coming face-to-face with, certainly seems to have a penchant for one of the forms Death can take.

"You act tough now, but you have no idea what I could do to you."

The hooded figure steps closer, barely a metre away, and Philip's heart picks up speed.

"Kill me?" He asks, shakily. "You lose the fear of dying once you have experienced what I have."

Philip doesn't bother keeping anything back, he doesn't see the point, so his voice is strained, raw, and filled with pain.

The figure stills, then slowly pulls the hood back off their face.

It's a man - though he looks no older than Philip, or his father's apprentice, merely a boy - with skin ghostly pale, as though it had never felt the kiss of the sun's rays. There are bruises around his eyes, mottled crimson decorating the tops of his cheekbones and covering the upper lids of his eyes. His hair is the brown of roasted hazelnuts, and his eyes are a startling scarlet, matching his lips, which are plump but appear slightly dry. They're pulled tight, so that he comes across as menacing, Philip guesses, but the tiny porcelain-white fangs do enough for that.

"You...you are..." Philip stutters, unable to conjure the words.

"A monster?" The man asks - man, because Philip is struggling to find it in him to believe the myths.

 _"Vampir."_ Philip corrects, as that is what his mother used to call them, and he never once doubted his mother.

"I was trying to say, that you are a _vampir_ , like in the legends, the old stories my mother would tell me...they are true..."

The man - the _vampire_ \- chuckles, and it's such an honest, _human_ sound, that Philip's thrown for a second.

"Ah, yes, the myths detailing the horrific, blood-sucking, soul-stealing creatures of the night. How terribly disappointing this must be for you - to learn that it is not all true, not in the way that you have been told. Your dreams must be absolutely shattered."

He pushes his hair back, and for the first time Philip notices how almost _golden_ the curly locks appear under the nearly set sun. They reach his chin - a little longer than Philip's own stark black hair - and apart from his surprisingly cocky nature, it is the one thing glaringly _human_ about him, a factor that eases Philip so he's not as scared as he was, although he is still admittedly frightened.

"What is your name?" He asks, because there's a part of him that wants to know more, a part that is awfully curious.

There's an achingly long, pregnant pause before words are spoken.

"Daniel."

 _'Daniel'_ , Philip muses, and it fits _perfectly_ , and now Philip has a name, it's easier to see him as a human and not a vampire, not a monster, not a dangerous creature - but a person, the same as he.

"My name is Philip." He says, and he's pleasantly startled to see the flicker of a smile dancing across Daniel's blood-red lips.

Later on, weeks or months or years later - time passed with barely a pausing thought - when Daniel has Philip pressed into the soft mattress in the cottage they call home, lips pressing loving kisses and sharp teeth leaving burning scratches, Philip ponders on the night they first met.

As he does, Daniel, after asking for the millionth time if Philip was positively certain, kisses him once with a heated fervour before puncturing his delicate skin, as he draws the human blood out so he can replace it with his own, changing Philip forever, turning him into something else entirely.

Philip knows, undoubtedly, that rushing into the forest during that night so long ago, was the best decision he could have made.

Unlike his mother, Philip had never been one for the supernatural, never believed in anything, any entity bigger than him aside from the Gods and Goddesses his religion dictated he must believe in. He had always found some explanation.

But this... _them_...

Nothing but fate was an accurate explanation.

So Philip gave in to the whimsical fantasies he'd lost as a child, fanciful ideas of the unknown. He fell in love with a creature of the night - and now he's eternally destined to be one.


	6. Lambent

_'(of light or fire) glowing, gleaming, or flickering win a soft radiance'_

Dan never thought that he'd ever fall in love.

In all the nineteen years he's spent alive, on this planet called Earth, he's never kissed or been kissed - not properly - and he's never had a proper relationship.

He's never worn someone else's sweater, never breathed in the pleasant scent of a lover, weaved in the fabric like strands of wool. Never held hands that turned warm and sweaty from nerves, never danced to cheesy love songs on kitchen tiles in mismatched socks. Never cuddled whilst watching a movie, never felt the warm hold of another person's arms wrapped tightly in an intimate embrace.

He's got love rushing through his veins, bleeding from his heart where blood should pulse, enough affection in his soul to envelop the entire Milky Way.

And no one to share it with.

* * *

Dan's not a very religious person.

He goes to church for important holidays such as Easter and Christmas , but he's not a weekly worshipper. He uses likely blasphemous phrases more than he rightfully should, but he's never linked a living, breathing person to a higher entity before.

Of course, that was before he catches sight of an ink-haired figure whose skin is place, ghostly white, but strongly luminescent - Dan's certain the aura he thinks he sees is just a by-product of the broken sleep that equates to roughly three hours he got the night before. It might also be because he's standing in the middle of a misty, fog-swamped graveyard with a chill seeping into his cotton jumper.

The headstone he runs his hand over is frozen to the touch, the replacement flowers he'd just put down too bright and colourful in comparison with the grey stone and the calligraphy embedded into the grainy surface. He can practically feel the souls of those who rest under the top layers of the earth surrounding him, spreading shivers like taps of delicate fingers down his spine. And yet, the unknown figure who seems to be shrouded in mystery like a villains cloak, emits more fascination and intrigue - and indeed attracts more of Dan's attention - than the spirits of those who've long since left this earthly plane.

Dan considers calling out - most likely in a hushed whisper so as not to shatter the somewhat eerie atmosphere - but he doesn't need to, because the stranger turns, as though he heard Dan's thoughts, or his slightly laboured breathing. The distance between them is shorter than Dan thought - thought it's hard to see through the heavy fog - a fact indicated by the brightness of the strangers' eyes, eyes that are boring into Dan so intensely, Dan's certain his soul is being examined.

They're a startling blue, the eyes, clear like a rock-pool and pristine like crystal glass. The gaze is intense, curious but not not hardened. Dan feels a little like part of an exhibition - although that's probably how the other guy also feels.

"Uh, hi." He calls, and it comes out stuttered and weak, as though even he's not sure what he's saying, what he's doing.

The stranger nods slightly, tilts his head so he looks deep in thought, or perhaps consideration, then begins to walk towards Dan.

"Hello," he says when he's closer, and his voice is low and smooth, pleasantly deep, the word crisp and articulate in the same way posh ladies and gentleman speak.

"It's surprising to see anybody else here, especially now." Dan says, hinting with an upward glance at the sky, currently midnight blue, the lunar glow soft and inviting.

"I find that it is more quiet and peaceful at this hour."

"I didn't realise graveyards were usually loud. Doesn't seem like much of a 'party central' hot spot to me, but then again, I don't exactly frequent social gatherings often, so what would I know, right?"

The stranger laughs, and the sound is twinkling piano notes, and wind chimes and silver triangles.

"I must admit that you do provide a convincing point." He holds his hand out, and the gesture seems strangely old-fashioned, a mannerism from a by-gone age - but then Dan remembers they're standing in a graveyard, in the middle of the night, and there are much stranger things he could be focused on in comparison to a handshake.

Dan shakes the stranger's hand.

"What is your name?" The stranger asks, and Dan finds it peculiar for a second but he moves on.

"Dan," he says, and the smile he receives is bright, genuine, but there's a calculating look filtered between turquoise hues.

"Philip." The stranger returns, and it rolls off his tongue with grace, like tumbling marbles.

* * *

Months that feel like years later - when Dan's running light fingers across soft feathers that feel like pillows from 5-star hotels and glow with an ethereal lambent glow; his naked chest pressed against Phil's, the hand not running through Phil's angelic wings spread against Phil's, fingers tangled - Dan wonders how he ever worried about never finding someone to love.

Even if the person he fell in love with isn't technically a person, isn't even technically a human - that doesn't mean it's any less special. He fell in love with a fallen angel, and in turn an angel fell in love too - in love with him and, consequently, from Heaven.

But Dan believes Phil when he says it's worth it, says he's worth is. Because he has to.

He can't lose his celestial guardian.


	7. Juxtaposition

_'the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect'._

Dan's often surprised at the vast contrasts between Phil and himself. He shouldn't be - after all they've known each other since they could walk, and they've grown up with the same interests. Even when they grew up from playing pirates to playing Mario and Sonic, they did so together.

They're as similiar as two peas in a pod, practically clones of each other, only with different genetic make-up. Everyone who knows them, and even people who only know _of_ them, can't find a difference between them. They're practically the same person.

Excecpt, when you pull back the curtains and turn off the smoke machine, take away the covers and the masks and the mirrors - they're complete opposites.

Because Phil is perfect and beautiful and exqusite...

And Dan's an imperfect mess of a person, a faulty attempt at a human, broken.

Phil's like the sun, bright and happy and obvious in the best way possible. His presence is unavoidable, but no one's ever unhappy about it. He's like a spring day, warm and joyful, full of life and love and spirit. He's honey and iced tea and sunshine and gold.

And Dan's like the moon. Pale and mysterious, not always quite there but always distant. If the sun is obnoxious and bright then the moon is soft and quiet and solemn. He's a rough winters day, a raging thunderstorm, electric and dark and moody, all grey clouds and fog and a heavy, muggy feeling. Raindrops that fall like hail, hard and harsh. He's misty and sullen and melancholy.

Phil's melted caramel and delicious hot chocolate and cool lemonade with clinking ice-cubes. Dan is bitter coffee with no sugar, dull and secluded, burning vodka and harsh ice, the sky on an empty night. He's glass - thin and fragile, easily broken but constantly trying to appear sturdy and together.

Phil is the day, bright and happy and full of promise, and Dan is the night, deep and sometimes sinister, shady and secret.

Phil's love and Dan is hate. Phil's the good and Dan's the bad.

And yet, when Dan's around Phil, _he_ feels kind of bright too, like Phil's the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm that are constantly suffocating Dan.

* * *

It's on a particuarly bad day for Dan, one when he feels like a mass of dark clouds and electric storms and shadows, that everything just becomes too much.

He walks home alone after school, telling Phil that he isn't feeling well, he just needs some alone time, and he'll see Phil tomorrow. He waves to his mum once he gets inside, and goes straight to his bedroom, where he changes into uncolourful clothes that match his feelings, and he crawls into bed - hoping that if he curls up into a tight ball and hides under the covers he'll be able to escape from everything that haunts him.

He doesn't, he can't, and he knows his hopes are ill and futile and vain, but he keeps hoping anyway, because he needs something to cling to when he's surrounded by the darkness, a good thing to believe in, a light at the end of the tunnel for him to pursue.

After all, the darkness has to fade eventually...right?

* * *

Dan's still cowering under his blacket of gloom a few hours - though it could have been only one - later, so he's not aware of what's happening outside his cocoon of darkness.

Not until there's a weight pressing down on his bed, the source of which appears to be sitting next to his curled-up form. He assumes it's his mum, come to tell him dinner's ready, or maybe even to check up on him in case he's ill.

Except the voice that speaks is a little gruff and a lot deeper than his mum's.

"Phil?" He asks, pulling the covers down.

Phil's smile is a beam of sunshine, and it's blinding.

"I was just rambling about how I'm surprised your mum didn't squeeze the life out of me when I walked in. She _did_ come pretty close though."

Dan manouevers so he's sitting up, his feet just passing Phil's hips.

"What are you doing here?" Dan asks, his voice sounding a little dry.

"I came to see you, you seemed quite down and a little strange after school, so I thought I'd see if you're okay."

"I'm fine." Dan replies, and it's instantaneous, he doesn't think before he speaks because he doesn't need to. The words were resting on the tip of his tongue from the moment Phil opened his mouth.

"Dan..."

"I'm fine, great, peachy, perfect."

Phil raises his eyebrows slowly.

"How long have we known each other?" He asks.

"Forever."

"And yet, you still think you can lie to me, and I _won't_ be able to see through you?"

Phil's smile is weak and thin, his eyes soft but concerned.

"Dan, please, tell me honestly...what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

" _Dan..._ "

"We're a _juxtaposition,_ Phil!" Dan yells, and his voice is booming in his ears, it's distressed, and it echoes around the quiet room.

Phil doesn't speak, but there's confusion and worry etched into his features, in the crinkles near his eyes, and the line that is mouth has become.

"We're a juxtaposition." Dan repeats, softer.

"You're brightness and goodness and perfection, sunshine and joy, and I'm...I'm sadness and darkness and shadows. Together we're a juxtaposition...we _contrast_ , like good and evil, and it's just - it's becoming too much. I don't want to be a personification of despair and emptiness anymore."

 _Phil_ looks like the personification of despair, his eyes wide and worried, his forehead creased with lines of concern.

"I just feel so...hopeless." Dan whispers, and he's ashamed at how small his voice sounds.

Phil reaches for Dan's hand and slides his fingers between Dan's. Dan's hand is warm, but Phil's is cold, and it's another contrast between them - but one that Dan doesn't mind too much. His warmth reminds him he's human, and Phil's coolness is like a fresh splash of water on his face.

"I don't think we're a, a juxtaposition." Phil says, and the peculiar term sounds strange coming from his mouth, a foreign word rattling off a familiar tongue - Dan supposes it sounds funny when _he_ says it too.

"I think there's some parts of you that are perhaps 'dark', but there's also fire and determination and passion, and...and love."

Phil squeezes Dan's hand, and Dan squeezes back, just as tightly.

"There's sadness in _me_ , too, it's what makes us human. Everything has an opposite, everything good has a bad side, every hero a rival villain...just because you have bad days, doesn't mean that you won't have good ones, and just because you feel like a rain cloud doesn't mean that's all you are."

Phil smiles, and it prompts an, admittedly weak, one from Dan.

"You're passionate and fiercely determined, and so incredibly clever I'm constantly in awe,"

"Phil, I'm not - "

"And you're beautiful." Phil says, practically whispering he speaks so low, as if it was a secret, and to speak any higher would shatter it's mystery.

"We're both young, barely seventeen, and yet I feel like you've already won the jackpot in life. I'm proud more than I am envious, and I'm honoured to know you as well as I do, to share each milestone you come across, to play even a small part in this adventure we all call life."

Dan's crying now, and Phil lifts his other hand to wipe the tears away with slim, pale fingers, taking the chance to admire Dan's eyes as they stare at him - eyes that speak of melted chocolate and caramel macchiatos in quiet corners against frosted windows.

"Why are you so kind to me?" Dan asks, his voice cracking. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"I ask myself the same question every day." Phil admits. "Sometimes multiple times a day, in fact. Interestingly, I am yet to come up with an appropriate answer."

Dan shakes his head, disbelief crowding his thoughts with crooked figners made of ominous gloom and dim opacity, the familar tendrils of despondency curling around his heart and squeezing until the life leaks out, slowly and painfully.

"You don't believe me?" Phil guesses.

It's phrased as a question, but sounds like a statement, and Dan's not sure how to answer, or even if he should answer in the first place.

"I guess it's up to me to prove it then."

Phil tugs on his hand, and Dan leans forward. He has suspicions on what Phil's going to do, and his wishful hopes account for most of them.

"I like you," Phil says. "More than a friend...please excuse the cliche-ness...and it hurts me to see you view yourself in such a low manner."

Dan ponders Phil's words as they're spoken. He's not sure if he likes Phil _like that_ , he's never thought about it. He admires Phil greatly, that's for certain, but when he considers what liking Phil could mean...it's not that he necessarily has a crush on Phil, but he also doesn't hate him either...

"I want to kiss you, if you don't mind?" Phil says, and it breaks through Dan's muddled thoughts.

"Okay," Dan says, and it seems his heart knows better than his head what he wants.

Phil cups Dan's cheeks with the same hand he had used to wipe Dan's tears away, and he leans in. Dan closes his eyes and ignores the way his chest tightens and his stomach twists. His lips are chapped and Phil's are dry, but the kiss is smooth and heavenly, and tastes faintly of the mixed sweets and salty plain crisps they'd shared at lunch. Dan's not sure what to do with his other hand, so it rests against Phil's hip, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt.

They pull back shortly afterwards, but Dan can't help but yearn to kiss Phil again, to feel the soft slide of lips against lips.

"So?" Phil asks, and Dan elects for a witty remark, the kiss having restored his confidence, just a bit.

"It was a good kiss." He says, shrugging a shoulder.

Phil glares at him, an empty glare devoid of real heat, and Dan breaks into a grin of shiny teeth and pink lips and sparkling eyes.

"You're a twat," Phil chastises. "And I regret everything."

Dan pouts, Phil sighs, and Dan knows that he's won.

"Did it make you feel better?" Phil aks, and there's genuine fear that he didn't helplingering behind his eyes and laced in his voice.

"It did...thank you. I hope that's not the only reason for the kiss, though..." Dan absently wonders where his desire for more comes from, but he accepts it.

"Of course not. That was one hell of a kiss...and I meant it when I said _I really like you._ "

"Maybe you're right." Dan admits. "Maybe we're not a juxtaposition like I thought."

Phil grins, nods, and leaves a chaste kiss on Dan's lips - in that order.

Dan's not sure what his confusing thoughts and conflicted heart mean, and he's not even sure what _they_ mean - but he knows that Phil was right, partly.

They are _juxtapositions_ \- just within themselves. Phil's mainly sunshine and rainbows, but not always, because sadness affects everyone.

And Dan always feels like shadows and thunderstorms, but fire burns inside him. And sometimes it's too hot, and sometimes the bad thoughts take over, but he has Phil for when that happens - he was just too blind to see that before.

He thought he could handle it himself, but now he knows that he doesn't need to.

Because he has Phil, just as the night has the day.


End file.
